Page 108 of Icing Hearts

“Coerce you?”

“No, Tory. Come on, you know him. Vince would never. I…initiated, but I knew it was wrong. I needed to be in control, but it was wrong, and I can’t undo it or take it back. You can’t go back.” I choke out the last of my words in a whisper and my head drops as the tears fall onto the cold linoleum.

“Oh, Clara. Come here.” Tory scoots closer and wraps both arms around my shaking shoulders. “I’ve got you.”

“I just want my mom,” I wail.

“I know. I’m sorry, Clara. I’m here,” he whispers, stroking my hair as I bury my head in his chest. He’s so warm.

I can’t take being here anymore. I wish I stayed home. “Please take me somewhere. It hurts too much.”

Without a word, Tory hooks his arm through his helmet and scoops me up, one arm under my legs, the other along my back. I wrap my hands around his neck, and the pain of how much I’ve missed his touch gets me crying all over again. He carries me out a back exit, right beside the stairs until we reach his bike. I sniffle, and he wipes my tears with his thumbs before putting the helmet on me and fastening the chin strap. This time, I don’t argue about him needing one too.

“Wait here. I just need to take care of something.”

“What?”

“You know what I’m gonna do, Clara.”

He pulls out his phone and calls the school. “Who does he have right now?”

“Barnes.”

“Room 285, right?”

I nod.

He punches in three numbers, then says, “Hi there, can you send Vincent to the main office?”

“Tory, don’t.”

“I promise, I just want to talk. No need to concern yourself.”

“You have a habit of breaking promises.”

“We all have room to grow.” He hangs up the phone. “I’ll be back.”

We’re eye to eye and he growls, “I told him what would happen if he made you cry. He won’t be surprised.” He brushes a wayward tear and smooths my hair behind her ear. I look down at the asphalt, full of shame. He kisses me on the cheek and then sprints back into the building.

Four and a half minutes later, Tory returns with mussed hair and red knuckles that he shoves into his pockets before he gets close. He tries to hide them, but I was searching for injuries as soon as the school doors flung open. When you know someone’s appearance as well as I know his, it’s easy to spot anomalies. Anything out of place stands out immediately, and the bloody knuckles are no different.

He drives me to his house. I knew he would. The middle door of the three-bay garage opens, and Tory rolls into a spot next to his car. He gracefully lowers the kickstand and slides off his seat in front of me. “It’s just us. Is that okay?”

I nod, still sniffling. As he unfastens my chin strap, I take off the glove then stuff them inside the helmet which Tory then places on the seat. He looks at me, gauging his next move, so I make it a bit easier for him to discern and hold out my arms. Asking him to hold me likely isn’t the best idea, given the turmoil in my heart and mind. But I just need something solid to hold on to right now, and he came for me. He didn’t have to but I needed him and he was there. He’s always there. Always.

Tory scoops me up, one arm under my legs, the other around my back while I cling to him. I lock my hands around the back of his shoulders and soak his shirt with my tears. Such closeness is treacherous—dangerous even. But I don’t care. I hold him like he’ll disappear into a fine mist if I don’t.

He’s careful not to bump my legs against a doorframe or errant piece of decor. The cool of his sheets meet my back.

“First things first. Do you want to change?” he asks.

I nod again. I take my glasses off and set them on the nightstand. Tory hands me a pair of joggers and a t-shirt from some hockey camp. It must be from when he was young because it almost fits. But it’s soft and well-loved, so it’s perfect.

“Second, are you hungry?”

“No, just thirsty.”

“On it.” Tory disappears into the hallway and returns a few minutes later with a water bottle and snacks. “Just in case,” he says by way of explanation, coupled with a shrug.

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